Even Idiots Can Get It Right Sometimes
by The-Turducken-Affairs
Summary: Okay, so there's this case. People are dying (big surprise, right?). Now Sam and Dean are on the job, but this one's a bit of a stumper. There's bickering and victims dropping like flies and the boys get into some trouble. (some swearing, some violence, case fic) All of the genres: mystery, humor, and drama


**Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine.**

**A/N: Holy what?! This is soooo friggin' long. Geez. This is the longest one shot I've ever written. I was going for 3,000 words and the story kept going. I'm not complaining, but I really wasn't expecting that. D; **

**Warnings: Vague spoilers for a couple of things up to the end of Season 3. Not anything specific, but you'll notice a couple parts work within the context of up to there. **

**Read, enjoy, review! :)**

* * *

It starts off really simple. Like a whisper in the breeze, or just a sprinkling of unease when the sun starts to fall. But of course, in all cases like these, it happens quietly up until the point when it's blaringly obvious and far too late.

This is when the professionals get involved.

* * *

"Sam! I know you've got all of those delicate lady parts that you've got to make sure don't fall down the drain, but could you hurry up? I gotta take a piss."

_Whish, whish,_ and more _whishes_ go on behind the bathroom door, because Sam is showering and probably spending the extra time using _hair conditioner._ And where the hell did Sam even pick up on these weirdo hippy habits? God, but more likely Hell, knows that Dad and Dean never taught him to behave like such a fruitcake.

"It's called _not_ smelling like something we'd wanna gank. You should try it some time. Maybe people would like you more," Sam's hollers over the sound of the shower, but of course, he's a girl, so the words sound melodious like Cinderella and sassy like Jasmine- Wait.

Pretend Dean didn't say that. Yeah, Dean's tough, likes to play it fast and loose, and _absotively posolutely_ does not know anything about Disney.

Not a thing.

"That's it! Avert your eyes little sister or your delicate sensibilities will be ruined forever."

With that, Dean works on his zipper with one hand and pushes open the barrier between him and the heavenly toilet seat of sweet piss-dom with his other. When he boldly goes where no man has gone before (that is to say, when he does that thing that every sibling has done at some point; namely, invading the personal space of the other sibling), he happens upon catastrophe.

Catastrophe comes in the visage of two rounded, firm (and oh god, does that have to be one the first descriptors that comes to mind?) globes of skin right into his sights. Catastrophe comes in the form of Dean successfully whipping out the family jewels just in time to come "face" to "face" with his naked, bent over brother.

Catastrophe comes on a Monday morning.

**AHH**

They are sitting in a diner, partaking in what some may call 'the awkward silence.'

Why they are enjoying some nice quiet time, no one can say for certain, because _nothing happened_. There were no unforeseen consequences as a result of Dean's brainlessness. There was no fourth encounter of any variety. Absolutely not.

"So, the hunt?"

Dean startles. There is a clattering of plates, spilt coffee falls artfully onto the plastic table cover in a splattered arrangement, and Dean does not at all display any of his theoretical hunting prowess.

"Wha?"

Sam gestures with his hand, a circular motion that is of particular concern since Sam is also holding a fork with said hand, and says impatiently, "What'd you find out yesterday? You know, because we're on a case and we like to look into things before we go ganking thin air?"

Oh. Right. Dean rearranges his face to 'normal brother who is definitely not traumatized,' allowing this morning to be put into his own personal Pandora's Box of things he doesn't want to remember (strangely enough, Dean has a strong feeling that many moments with Sam have been shoved in there…).

Then he clears his throat, _eh ugh hmm_, and says, "The case. Okay." And he's about to tell Sam about the most recent victim, the third one since they've been in town and the fifth one since all of this started, but-

"Bacon?!"

Dean startles again. Geesus.

When Dean turns to look at the noise box that said 'bacon' in such a cheerily demented way, he finds breasts. Oops, try again.

Dean looks up a little more, and there is their over enthused, albeit hot, waitress.

Sam looks up at her, his whole stupid face and overly large body arranged in a way that could only be described as primly.

Sam requests, all polite and junk, "Excuse me, could you say that again?"

The waitress does some strange little bobbing motion with her face, like a goose from Aristocats except for the fact that Dean totally does not know what that is, and laughs.

She says, "Of course! Bacon! It's our special of the day, so I was asking if you wanted any!"

Practically every word she says requires an exclamation point, but for the sake of Dean's brain, he imagines that she makes it through her whole bit with complete sentences.

Sam seems less perturbed (almost like he has a filter for dumb behaviors. Hmm…) and volleys back, "I'll stick with the short stack and he'll have…"

There is a pause as Sam looks appraisingly at Dean, "Two of the specials."

So yeah, Dean is absolutely thrilled that he's getting bacon, but at a complete loss as to why Sam doesn't want any. Who rejects bacon? Sam, apparently.

Figures.

Dean shrugs it off, deciding that Sam's serious lacking as a human being is not Dean's problem at the moment. Plus, this is just another example of why Sam is so not good with the ladies.

Except, turns out, that Sam can willfully not have his bacon and then not eat it too _and_ _then_ get the girl too, because the crazy waitress 'titters' (she's less hot now that she's looking at Sam like that. Ew.) after Sam responds. Maybe Sam has got his own brand of stud game.

_[Pandora's Box, here's a memory. Huh? Sam's got game? Impossible.]_

Dean guesses he zoned out, because awareness of his surroundings comes in the form of watching a fine booty swinging away towards the kitchen. Now, Dean could get lost forever in looking at lady butts, but he wants to get this hunt on a roll.

He turns to Sam and says, "Yep! This case keeps getting better and better. The dead body dude said he'd never seen a person's stomach filled with so many pig hooves."

Sam makes a face, but otherwise the conversation continues on with speculation of what sort of monster they could be hunting and counter strategies to any of the surprises that may arise.

* * *

"_You are the butterfly of your own life._" It's written on a poster in small, pink room in the corner of a large house on a street in the suburbs.

The room belongs to the long since grown up Stacy Millar who has come back to her hometown to visit her mother and help file her mother's taxes from the last five years. Stacy is an accountant and her mama is so proud.

Stacy wants to know why Mama waited five years to do any taxes.

Mama Millar says she just has a little problem with the government- "They weren't so keen to stick their noses in our business when your father was needing for some gas and the lines were only getting longer instead of shorter. Besides, those dumb old government commies are still kicking, but they're calling themselves socialists these days. I'm not giving my damn money to those hoodlums!"- Okay, big problem with the government.

Stacy Millar says that taxes are taxes and there's no good reason to avoid them for five years_._

Mama Millar delivers the final blow when she sucks in a deep breath and uses her mama voice to say, "Stacy Samantha Millar, I raised you with these two hands, you best not be giving your mama grief!"

Then, that is that; family and emotional blackmail making up what Stacy decides must be the longest weekend of her whole adult life.

And if, when Stacy goes to bed that first night back home, she swears she can hear faint skittering running along the vents under the floorboards, she reminds herself that this is just an old house with its own ticks and quirks. Besides, no way in hell is she going down to the basement to see if the furnace is slowing down after a good twenty years of duct tape and hitting the darn thing. There are _cobwebs _down there.

**AHH**

"Thank you ma'am. Again, I'm sorry for bothering you, especially now," Sam says, unwittingly crowding the older woman with his insane tallness and massive hands. He smiles, a quirk of his lips putting on just the right amount of sympathy. Then he leaves, flashes a badge as he works his way around the scene and back towards his brother.

The dead woman inside was found in the basement, burned and battered. As best as the preliminary report could tell, she burned herself by prolonging contact with the old furnace and continued to bash her head in until she killed herself.

The mother can give no answers as to why her daughter would do this. Sam doesn't blame her.

Outside the house, Dean is leaning against the Impala. Sam goes up to Dean and they do their thing.

"So, what'd the mom have to say about miss 'I'm not a witch, I'm a Wiccan'? Pft, old bat probably passed it down to her daughter over a nice children finger soup lunch every Sunday." Dean's angry and wired. The first one is because he didn't eat lunch. The second one is because he hates witch cases and knows they have the worst luck with them.

"Dean," Sam warns.

Dean scoffs, but drops it. "Fine. How did this tragedy befall such _respectable citizens_?"

Sam shoots Dean one more glare, but answers.

"Well, first thing. Mrs. Millar admitted that they _are_ from a family of witches. She says Stacy, the daughter, left for college a decade ago and made some real changes. The mom hardly knows her now, but Stacy definitely converted to Wicca and wouldn't even recite a protection spell, much less get involved in something dark enough to lead to _this_."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean was letting Sam run with it, watching his brother be all competent and in tune with his hunter's instincts, but then Sam lost him. They found a witch and they're _okay_ with it?

"She's a witch, dude. Why do you believe her? And why are you not telling me how we're gonna gank her?"

Sam rolls his eyes and looks down at Dean (literally, but Dean has a strong feeling that figuratively it's true too).

Sam says, "She's human. Besides, she's not hurting anyone; just casting harmless spells. Heck, she even blessed me; said something about it stopping sunburns for the 'rest of my days.'"

Now Dean is super alarmed. Sam is trusting, has empathy like nobody's business, likes people, and believes everything is rainbows and pie, but usually he has some sort of common sense.

"Sam!" he practically squeaks, but you know, really manfully.

"Look Dean," Sam says heavily, ready to get real invested in this. "Not everything supernatural is evil."

Sam stops as soon as he started. There's not much more he can say. He can only look at Dean and hope Dean believes the same as he does.

Dean deflates, sighing and agreeing.

"Alright, so if the Millars ain't the problem, then what _is_ going?"

* * *

Sam is currently waiting for Dean to leave the Coroner's office.

Sam and Dean had decided to split the work. They'll have to come back later to see the findings for Stacy's autopsy, but Dean followed up on the reports he had only just started telling Sam about back at the diner. Sam, meanwhile, went back to the precinct with the local cops and worked with them for a good hour.

For some reason, Dean is taking forever. Sam would almost think he charmed the coroner with his weird face that some people think is hot, except for the fact that the coroner is an old man. Sam checked. Like hell was he going to let Dean work long hours with a babe. They'd have to buy a house, get a mortgage, and set up a 401(k) before the case got solved.

"Hey! You're that cutie from the diner!"

Sam stops fidgeting, putting his train of thoughts to the side, and turns towards the voice. It's the bacon waitress.

Sam breaks out a smile, says, "Yeah. Sam…" and pauses all smooth like, letting the waitress fill in the spot with her own name.

"Me?! Oh, I'm Amy! It means dearly loved! Which I mean, of course-" The only thing that halts her verbal spewage is Amy interrupting herself to giggle.

Then she's back at it, "Well, at least, I've heard it's a good name for me! My mom seems to think so! Not stupid Sally from high school though! But what does she know?! I heard she moved to the big city and lost all her hair! Ha! But, anyways- what about Sam?! What does that mean?!"

Sam's smile may or may not be slightly more pained, but he bravely answers anyways, "I don't know. Never really came up before."

The waitress, Amy, looks extremely put out. Then she lights up.

"I've got it!" This is accompanied by a startlingly harsh smack of her first against her open palm. "I'll figure it out and next time you drop by the diner, I'll let you know!"

Before Sam can say anything, she's walking away, shouting her goodbyes.

"Oh! Sam?!" She stops and walks back towards him.

This time, Sam gets to speak.

"Yes?" He says hesitantly.

"You and the other man from the diner are FBI agents, right?"

Sam's eyebrows furrow, but he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."

Amy says more to herself than to Sam, "You must be here investigating the murders then." Then she directs her words towards Sam, "Just… Be careful, Sam. There was a similar case from back when I was a kid. No one was ever caught, but something real awful happened to the lead cop and his family."

She looks Sam in the eye and, for some reason, seems like she really doesn't want him to get hurt, and then gives a crooked smile. "See you sometime at the diner. Bye!"

She's off like coconut down a hill, but Sam's got a new lead.

**AHH**

"I get it! If you ask me one more time 'do you _really _get what I'm saying?' someone's getting punched in the neck and it sure as hell ain't gonna be me," Dean growls out.

Sam just huffs, all long suffering-like and glances at the door in a way that seems full of longing, like Dean is actually not always a joy to be around and Sam sincerely wishes he were somewhere else; somewhere quiet and peaceful and with of the frappuccinos he could ever want. Instead, he's stuck here with a brother who really should walk around strapped into a helmet.

"You don't seem very concerned," Sam shoves down all of his emotions of 'what can't ever be' and insists.

Dean shrugs and puts hands up, leaning his head against said hands. He says, "Ah well. You know how these things go. We're told we're in danger, we do or don't listen, we get dragged into it even if we didn't want to, and then we gank the sucker."

Sam sighs, something that is very impressive coming from such a tall man whose lungs must be _proportional_ to his massive stature.

"Dean."

Dean quirks an eyebrow and counters lightly, "Sam."

"_Dean_," Sam says in, maybe just a little bit of, a bitchy tone.

"We'll be fine." Dean is kind of starting to sound like dismissive guy #1 that always dies in the horror movie.

"Take this seriously Dean! Amy gave us a lead and what I found was not good. Like I said, the cop went _insane_. He said there were snakes in his wife's veins, that he could _hear_ them! He shredded her up, trying to get the snakes out and then he killed himself a few weeks later, screaming that they were inside him now."

Dean looks at Sam, clearly annoyed. "I get it. Seriously, dude, I know that's a crappy situation, but what can we do? We're not gonna jump ship and I promise I won't go shooting if I think there's an animal living inside you." Dean chuckles a little bit, because he likes his humor the same way he likes his coffee; black.

There is no good alternative that Sam can see, so he drops it. He just hopes Dean knows that he is very unhappy about this.

Stuck though they may be, Sam still takes care to research warding sigils and protection ruins that could stop mental attacks. Everything seems to either require some sort of sacrifice, rare ingredients from things that have long been extinct, or knowing specifically what you want to be protected from.

So, looks like they'll be bumbling around to solve this one. Great.

* * *

Nicolas likes to go for a walk every day (or is it every night?) around the park near his home. The sun sets as he's nearing the end of his stroll, and it's as if everything stops, if only for a moment.

Because his job takes up most of his life, tying him to reams of paper that print small little lines of numbers and projections that he's endlessly carrying around the office and handing out, he needs to hold onto something.

Maybe at one time in his life, he had liked to gamble everything he had to feel the thrill, the impossibility of thought and responsibility. You put your money in on this and let chance do the rest. He'd stopped a few months back though.

Unlike most gambling addicts, he didn't stop because he couldn't support the habit anymore. Actually, quite the opposite was true for him. He was like the superman of betting, able to pick the right pot and hold on the right turns. That's what made him stop. It wasn't fresh anymore, it wasn't an escape.

But right here, under the dying sun, he finds a newness every day. Because the sky is different with each shine of sun rays and sometimes the colors look otherworldly.

Tonight is a little different though.

He had to cut things short, because in the middle of innocently walking along the trails of his favorite park, a friggin' bee stung him. Not to mention that he had this anxious feeling, like he really shouldn't be out tonight.

It's instincts like those that stopped him from going bankrupt. He's not going to forget them now.

**AHH**

_It started out small, barely noticeable, but now it is worse and something wants to get in. The house is rattling. Windows are shaking and the floor is vibrating. All in all, there's this tremendously unsettling loudness. _

_He's going to die; it's just a question of when. _

_Then, everything breaks. The windows fall apart into dust-like shards and the creatures fly in from there. The door cracks, denting inward until a hole is made and the creatures push through there too._

_He's still lying in bed when they come. It's a hoard of bees that crawls over his whole body and there's this sharp unbearable pain, individual stings filling up his body and-_

Nicolas awakens with a harsh, ragged gasp.

He can't hear anything, but it's almost as if they're already here on top of them. He feels covered in shadows of prickling.

He has to get out of here.

**AHH**

The garage door is taking forever to open, but he's in his car and ready to go. Because seriously, when something's after you, you want to be on the move as quickly as you can.

When the garage door is halfway opened, the buzzing starts for real.

And then the bees are swarming him.

The car is rattling, almost floating, when he steps on the gas. He's moving, but some of the bees have already broken a few holes into the passenger window. And the car is filling up- a couple, then a handful, then more…

He reverses out of the garage, as more and more bees fill the car. Luckily, he is not stopped by his crappy garage door, and wheels out of there.

But even as he escapes his deathtrap home, his car looks blacked out, a mass of bees blocking out any light from the outside.

The swarm crawls over his whole body.

**AHH**

_There's this scratching at the door. A shadow is casting through the crack of the door. And then there's howling, 'aoowhoooooo!'._

"-more pie than we could ever eat. Right Sam?"

Sam startles, his head bolting up and towards Dean. "Huh?"

Dean looks at Sam strangely, but otherwise just continues on. "I was just saying that after this case, we need to settle down for a good night of beer, burgers, and more pie than we could ever eat."

Nodding along to what his brother said, but still look off somewhere else, he gives his distracted assent. "Ahuh, sure."

_The shadow snuffles and whines. _

Sam itches at his chest, absent mindedly, and Dean forces a quick, strained smile, before he opens his mouth to ask Sam-

RINGGG. RINGGG.

Dean picks up, letting whatever it is that's going on drop from mind.

"This is Agent Bart," Dean responds, voice deepening instinctively to be all macho, impressive, and whatnot.

"Alright, we're on our way," Dean responds right before hanging up and turning to his brother, "We've got another vic. He's at the hospital."

There is a long pause as Dean gets his gun and badge, then gets Sam's stuff too, because Sam is just sitting there, still staring off into space.

"Well?"

Finally, Sam's attention turns back to Dean. He cups his face and rubs away distraction, pulling himself back to reality, and says, "Right, right. Okay. What happened to the guy?"

Tossing Sam his gun and badge, Dean shrugs and says, "Guess we'll find out."

**AHH**

The hospital is fairly quiet tonight.

There is a calmness; a lull in injuries, a break from the rush of staff. It doesn't come often, but it gives the sense of the regular panic and death trickling to a stop.

That is the scene to which Sam and Dean arrive, flashing their badges along the way and being brought to their vic's doctor. Then, the work starts.

"The man, Nicolas, was found at the emergency entrance, passed out in the front seat of his car. We treated him for severe bee stings and internal damage. It's the strangest case I've seen in years."

Sam and Dean share a look and Dean cranes his neck towards the vic's room. Sam nods.

Dean says, "Uh, I'm going to go talk to the vic. Why don't you just stick around with Agent Jim here and finish up?"

Then he swaggers away, perhaps feeling a little too much like a sheriff of the Old West than a modern made man investigating a 21st century crime.

The room he enters is occupied by Nicolas, the vic, a mess of bandages and swollen skin. Yikes.

Dean decides right then and there that he does not like bees. Also, how the hell did this guy get attacked by so many of them?

"Hey Nick, I'm Agent Bart."

Nicolas casts a pair of watery, blue eyes onto Dean, searching for who knows what. Maybe Nicolas finds what he's looking for, because he answers Dean and it's a series of hard facts, facts that sound crazy and would land Nick in a psych ward if he told anyone other than a hunter.

"Dean," Nick says with a quirk of his head.

And Dean instantly doesn't like this. This is Bad News, and yes he mentally capitalizes the words. But, he's also, y'know, on a case and figures he'll deal with this right after he gets some answers.

There's a half-smile in response to what was probably Dean's physical response to Jolly Nick knowing his name.

"It's okay, sometimes I know things I shouldn't."

His blue eyed gaze darkens.

"Like last night. I had a dream that I was going to die," he gives a short, sharp guffaw, "by a swarm of bees, of all things. I woke up, ran like hell to get out of there, but didn't leave in time to avoid them. I thought I was a goner."

Nick looks discerningly at Dean, like he knows he's giving this next piece of information to the right person to get things done. "Strange thing is, the bees disappeared the moment I got off the driveway. Just like that. Gone."

* * *

**You have... 2 new messages.**

"Hey Dean. I got a call from someone who says they saw something. We're supposed to meet in the park right behind the diner. I finished with the doctor, so I'll head out and you can catch-up when you finish.

Oh! The doctor says that the vic mostly just suffered surface stings, but there was one spot where they found some internal bleeding. The doctor can't explain it, but the wound looks like the vic would have got it from one of the bees trying to dig its way out from _inside_ him.

*heavy, muffled sigh*

We still have no idea what's going on, so don't anything stupid, alright Dean?"

**You have... 1 new message.**

"Afternoon Agent Bart. This is Mr. Thomas from the Coroner's Office. Just calling in about the autopsy report for the victim you requested information on, Stacy Millar. Fair warning, Agent, this is… strange. In the preliminary results, we found that there was a nest of spiders in her cerebral cortex. Without a complete report, I can only speculate, but my suspicion is that Ms. Millar died from self-inflicted blunt force trauma to the front of her skull... She was probably trying to get them out."

**End of final message.**

* * *

Sam is at the waiting spot. He didn't recognize the voice of the witness, but he and Dean have passed their contact information out to so many people that he's lost count.

And that's the real trouble. There are too many people dying, so many strange things going on. He doesn't want to lose count of how many get hurt. Honestly, they've been here a week and a half and there have already been three deaths on their watch (not to mention the two before they caught the case and their surviving vic).

They have to solve this soon. He's pretty sure it's only going to get worse and not everyone will be as lucky as their most recent vic, Nicolas.

Besides, knowing his and his brother's luck, Nicolas will be unfinished business for whatever is doing all of this.

"Hi Agent!"

Sam turns; mentally shaking himself from his worries, and gives a small, measured smile to show that he's _here to help_.

"Amy," Sam says in recognition.

Then he goes for comforting, open-minded lawman, "I'm glad that you called me. No matter how strange or scary whatever you saw was, I promise I'll believe you and I'll make sure you stay somewhere safe."

She's been staring at Sam with wide eyes, taking in every word. Now she says, "Alright… I believe you. But Sam, can we talk about this at my house? I don't really feel safe out here."

Sam, gesturing at the same time as he says, "Lead the way."

Amy walks away, a smile spreading across her face when she turns her back to Sam, and _leads the way_.

**AHH**

"Dammit!" Dean mutters, again. This is the third time he's tried to call Sam back, only to not get any freakin' answer.

Stupid Sam, being all stupidly diligent with the stupid case, probably _emoting all over_ the stupid witness. So yeah, Dean thinks this whole thing is stupid.

Stupid, as in, he is so done. He won't ever look at pigs or spiders or bees the same again and he doesn't like all of this "weird even for them" weirdness going on.

What's worse, that Amy chick might have given them the lead they needed by letting them in on the fact that this has happened before and they did check it out, but this really isn't what happened before. Sure, the case from now is similar to what happened the last time, but there's one huge difference.

Dean's on his way to the motel, because Sam wasn't at the park and Dean's not about to looking through the whole town for Sam and the witness, who Sam probably just noticed was 'shaken up' and decided to bring them to a church or a therapist or whatever.

**AHH**

"So, Sam!" Amy lets the words float out of her mouth, practically sinking into Sam's skin. She's flirting.

They had reached Amy's apartment, "I call it my house! But what's a single girl to do in this economy?! Downsize, but it's still nice!", and she braved the worry that must have been digging at her all day well. She had taken her time, offering Sam a drink (which he took, because hello, Amy made the best coffee at the diner), and then they had sat down in her living room.

Now, Amy is flirting. Sam doesn't realize this though. Sometimes he's kind of dense.

"Amy," He rumbles, leaning in attentively and approaching this whole thing very seriously, "Can you tell me what you saw?"

Amy gets up, walks around the room, her motions light and breezy. "I sure can! But first, how are you feeling, Sam?!"

Sam doesn't get it. Why does it matter how he feels? Maybe he's a little drained, none too grateful to be sitting while they talk (and seriously, this whole week has been _stressful_, he just so tired at this point), but Amy is the main concern right now. He says so, too.

"Aww, you're so sweet!" She claps her hands together, lovingly. "I knew you were a good guy! That's why I tried to warn you!"

"What?" Amy's not making any sense. Everything is starting to seem a little off, too.

It's quiet for second, like Amy is thinking. Then she turns to Sam, eyes all wide and she looks so earnest. "Yeah! I told you what happened the last time! Silly! And I mean, it's such a shame that you didn't pick up on it. A real, god's honest shame."

Sam sinks back into the couch, his tone is quiet and even. "Just tell me what happened."

"Everything! Nothing's right! Don't you get it?! They weren't supposed to die!"

**AHH**

Last time, the victims only thought they heard animals inside of people, like the cop and his wife. This time, people were attacked, inside and out, by animals. Like, Stacy who tried to break open her head to get the spiders out. Or like Nicolas, who was swarmed by bees, but also had internal bleeding because bees somehow got inside of him.

All in all, it's not adding up.

He's at the motel now. Slamming the door close and locking up his baby, he goes to their room.

It's almost like the cases are related, but two different people were involved. He'd almost say it's a mentor- protégé situation, but it doesn't account for the pattern he's discovered. Everyone that's died so far has powers.

"Sam, you in here?!" Dean yells when he gets in the room.

Sam doesn't answer. Dean figures he'll give it a half-hour before he recues their poor witness from Sam the Bawling Empathizer.

**AHH**

Sam's getting more and more confused. Amy's not making much sense, but he's feeling pretty strange too. He thinks maybe Amy drugged him.

He forces the words out, "Who wasn't supposed to die?"

Her eyes are wild. "My family!" She gestures with a wide wave of her arms, as if to say, _duh_.

"What?" Sam is so not up to following what she's saying, but still. He might be able to crack this case wide open and rub it Dean's face for years to come. 'Hehe, remember that one time when **I **solved that one case with the crazy waitress when you were just looking at her butt the whole time?'

"The cop, Sam! Honestly!" She seems to need to gather mental strength to persevere through Sam's slowness and psychotically yells out the rest of the explanation.

"The cop was my dad! All the deaths you've been investigating now?!"

She stops yelling. Sam knows that this next part is the most important thing to her.

Devoid of feeling, she says, "That is my revenge."

All of the knotted up irrational speaking dies down immediately, and she's sugary sweet. "Now go to sleep, Sammy. Everything will be back on track by the time you get up!"

**AHH**

_There's scratching at the door. A low whine drags out and becomes a snarl._

Dean wakes up. What the hell, how did he end up falling asleep? Doesn't matter, he's got other things to worry about. Like, seeing if Sam is back yet.

Dean looks around, but Sam's not here. Dean looks at the clock, 6:42, and shit! Sam's been gone about an hour. Not good.

Seriously, why is Sam always getting himself in trouble? Knowing Sam, Dean will find Sam just in time to heroically save him from being strangled to death.

With that, Dean goes to open the door. He stops when he hears a whining on the other side of the door.

And then a bark, followed by a few more barks, and then there's so many barks it sounds like one massive sound quake.

Looks like Sam will be doing the saving this time around.

Did Dean mention that he hates this gig?

**AHH**

Sam wakes up. What the hell, how did he- oh, right.

Amy is back to pacing, muttering under her breath. Sam can't tell if this is part of her being insane, or if the muttering actually means something.

Somehow, she notices he's awake. Great, more Amy ranting.

Her teeth shine from within the giant grin she gives him. "Sam! So glad you're back with me!" He tries to lean back into the sofa more, hoping to escape the piercing shrillness of her voice (and he's allowed to point this out now, because she's evil).

She must think he's afraid, because she rushes to comfort him. "Oh, no, no, no, Sam! It's all okay! I took care of everything!"

"What?"

She looks even more, impossibly, excited,and she's bouncing on her feet. "Oh yes! You'll stay here, because I think you're a real keeper! Dean will die like the rest of them! And then everything will go back to normal!"

"What?!" Sam pushes out the strangled question, his heart pounding and he's feels real fear for the first time this case.

"Don't be so modest! How could I not want you?! Just, just look at you! You're gorgeous! And so kind, so brave! You really wanted to help!"

She looks at him fondly and it's all kinds of vile.

She's happy to stare at him and Sam's happy to take the silence as moment to think.

He does the only, horrible, last thing on earth he wants to do, thing he can think of and keeps her talking. She'll eventually slip up. He'll figure out how to fix this.

**AHH**

Okay, so maybe Dean should have dragged Sam out of this town, kicking and screaming be damned, when he heard the first whisper- truth be told, Sam would have gone easy, it's Dean that likes to stick around and give nonsense promises that whatever they're about to do is a good plan.

_[Okay, Pandora's Box, can you hold this for me? What? No, I don't want that back. Really.]_

Thing is, it was easy to forget; almost like he was supposed to forget. By the time he starting hearing howling, real life animals scratching at the door, he, stupidly, thought they could solve the case before anything happened.

But hell, how was Dean supposed to have known it would come to _this_?

Dean doesn't care how much good instinct he's supposed to have; there's no way he could have predicted any of it.

Currently, Dean is hunkered down behind the bed furthest from the door in the motel room, waiting out the hoard of _dogs._

The pack is whining as a single entity, sounding like one giant thundering of feral pleas and Dean guesses this is how the spell or monster power or whatever (he doesn't even know, because, dammit, they were still investigating when this happened and still haven't got the slightest clue as to what they're up against) works.

He is in some massive shit.

The door breaks open. Yep, shit.

Right there in front of Dean is a pack of hellhounds. How he knows that's what they are (because seriously, they're supposed to be invisible), Dean has no clue, but he _knows_.

Now, Dean is a brave man and he looks death in the face on an almost daily basis, but hellhounds _scare_ him. Right now, he's freakin' terrified.

To make matters worse, there's this pain in chest. Like the hellhounds are already in there and clawing him up.

The hounds circle him. He can feel their hot breath on him.

They make their move.

**AHH**

Sam has tried reasoning with her. He pointed out that what she's doing now is just like what that thing did to her family all of those years ago. She did _not_ like that, if her shrill glass shattering snarl was anything to go by.

Then, Sam tried to get her to let up for him. He used his "charms" (and he's beginning to think of them in a dubious light, because he always attracts the ones that he shouldn't) and she laughs. She thinks it's sweet and _loves_ that he cares about family so much, but she won't bent.

Finally, he asks her why.

She says, "Because they all killed him! Everyone with powers, everyone not completely human- they're disgusting! I want all of them dead! I missed a few- like that old hag whose daughter died, and Nick! But that's okay! I'll get her when she relaxes with her protection spells! Nick's already dead! Died today in the hospital, drugged out of his mind by so much he couldn't escape this time!"

Sam looks at her with a carefully schooled face. He doesn't let on, but he's horrified. So much death, all because someone crossed wires years and years ago. None of this has any reason to it. Not even out of need, like it is for most monsters.

Sam says, "How'd you do it then, if you hate any add-ons to human?"

She barks out a sound of surprise. "Of course I used an "add-on" like you call it! I don't mind sinking to their level! Hell, I even do it better than them!"

For the first time here, Sam's attention falls on her and not just escaping. This is something he hasn't heard before, he can hope it'll help.

"Sure, I used hex bags to bind all of those _creatures _to my spell! But that's not all I did! See, every spell is bound to _me_! My mind digs through theirs and I can find their worse animal fear," she interrupts herself with a lightly said side comment, "That's my specialty, you know!"

Then she continues, "And all I can dream for is that they die worse than dad! Because they die slow, hearing whispers and then forgetting! Feeling more and more scared, anxious, tense as time passes, and then die painfully, horribly, by the 'paws' of what they fear most! Ripped apart!"

And she looks at her hands, as if she feels awe at what they can do. She's heaving from giving Sam her all, letting everything out. Then she's laughing; shaking with laughter and tears are falling.

She looks so _happy_.

That's when Sam shoots her.

She said it herself after all. Her mind powers the spell.

* * *

"Dean!" Sam's shouts can be heard as he runs towards the motel room.

Because Dean was attacked, because Sam didn't save him fast enough, because Sam would bet anything he knows what creature Dean fears most. Sam is so afraid.

He thinks over and over, "Not again. Not again."

Dean has to be okay. Sam will die if Dean isn't. Sam will just collapse right there and not move until he turns to bones.

This time, let Dean be okay.

"Dean!" Sam shouts as he turns the doorknob around with his hand.

Then, everything is quiet, save for Sam's ragged breathing, his pounding heart (and can it beat fast enough for two people?), and the thumping of his feet as he makes his way to Dean.

Dean's there. Right there. On his side, facing the wall opposite the door. Cut open, blood everywhere (and it's always too much blood, what do you say when there's even more blood than that?).

Sam does the only thing he can and takes a knee. He huddles over Dean's body and looks at him as if this one moment, this singular act of prayer and hope and _need_, can change everything.

Then, he turns Dean's body over.

He lets out a single, heartbroken sob.

* * *

Dean is hobbling his way out of the hospital, able to move but extremely tender. Apparently, being mauled from the inside out and the outside in can really to do a number on a guy. Evidence: Dean is closer to a rag doll than he is a human at the moment. Once he gets his stitches out (do not even ask how many), he'll be back to good form and scoring all the chicks.

Right now, he's laced up to the gills and shooting hateful looks at Sam, who is totally not injured and was apparently on the psycho bitch's nice list.

Freakin' Sam, who is _ignoring_ Dean's looks and rather, seems like he could burst out into song, _flower, gleam and glow, let your power shine _(and that song is totally not part of Dean's thought track, because he doesn't know a thing about Disney. Disney, who said anything about Disney?), as he nurses Dean back to health.

His Little Sister of Doom looks at him with this _smile_ that promises sugar and spice and nothing nice, and says, "Come on. There's a monster in Tallahassee ganking innocent librarians."

Turns out, Sammy knows the _right_ way to nurse a hunter back to health.

Things ain't half-bad.


End file.
